by C. C. Wiley
“Wait!” she pleaded. “You . . . you cannot mean to keep me here.”
Ranulf stopped, his hand resting on the latch. Unwilling to let go of the door, he looked over his shoulder.
In her effort to sit up, the fur had slipped to reveal the gentle slope of creamy skin. ’Twas all he could do to keep from returning to her side and press a kiss to the nape of her neck. His resolve firmly in place, he looked closely at his captive. He could not ignore the truth. No longer was the patient a mere innocent. This woman, lying so invitingly in his bed, played a game of deception. And uncovering deception was what he did best.
He watched the color of her eyes shift to cobalt. Tears glittered beside the deep pools that pleaded with him to wait. Wait? For what? For her to stick a blade in my heart? For her to open her mouth to my kisses?
“Please.” A single tear streamed down her cheek, punctuating her plea. “Am I your prisoner?”
“Prisoners are kept in the tower dungeon.” He tilted his head, sliding a fierce gaze over her face. “You are a guest and will dwell here until I deem it safe to release you. However, if I don’t receive answers to my questions when next we speak, then that is where you’ll reside until I do.”
Her fingers dug into the bedding, bunching it under her hand. “Guests are not kept under lock and key.”
“They are when they threaten my household and continue to keep their secrets.”
“Please, don’t lock me in. Anything but that.”
“Anything? You value your worth so poorly?” Ranulf shook his head in dismay. “What a pity.”
Stepping out of the bedchamber, he wearily shut the door. Drawing in a breath, he slowly inserted the key. The metal bolt turned in the lock and slid home.
His heavy steps down the stairway had carried him away, but he feared he had left his soul behind, torn apart by the plaintive cry for his return.
Chapter 10
“Enough,” Ranulf roared over his two friends’ voices. Darrick and Nathan stared at him as if he had lost his mind, and an uncomfortable silence settled over the great room. The people of Sedgewic kept their heads down as they scurried past to continue serving the evening meal.
He stood, knocking the chair over in his haste. Shoving his hair out of his face, Ranulf met Darrick’s gaze with a scowl. “What would you have us do? We cannot chase over the countryside in the off chance that we cross the bastards’ path.”
“Agreed.” Darrick rose slowly. The muscles in his jaws clenched and unclenched. “Unfortunately, your little foray over Margrave lands didn’t flush out our prey. And I’ll not bide my time here waiting for a notable bit of information to drop into my lap.”
“One attempt has already been made on the king,” Nathan added. “We need to move now—” His eyebrows arched high.
Ranulf looked up in time to see Hamish slide out from the corner hallway. He caught the boy by the back of the tunic and spun him to a stop. “Eavesdropping is a nasty habit. I suggest you find something else to do with your time.”
Rewarded with a quick nod, Ranulf swallowed a chuckle. The boy never ceased to cause him consternation. “Go. Make haste before Mistress Erwina learns of your behavior.”
He turned his back so the lad could scamper out of the room unheeded. Although Ranulf knew it futile, he prayed the child would stay out of trouble. Erwina might not leave Hamish’s ears intact should she have to deal with him again so soon. And ’twas obvious the guest residing in his bedchamber already had caused the old woman great distress.
The mere thought of the maiden made his loins tighten. Before he left for France, he would have her whisper every secret she held dear. Then he would taste the curve of her neck and dip into the cleft of her breasts.
And yet there was something troubling about her that he could not quite put his finger on. He pulled out the scrap of embroidered banner he had found on the table in his bedchamber. Although severely damaged, there was enough embroidery left intact to make out the colors. He searched his memory. Where had he seen this design before?
He lifted the pitcher on the hearth and poured a generous portion of ale into his mug. The cool liquid slid down his throat.
With a placid smile in place, he turned, holding out the pitcher to Nathan and Darrick. After seeing their mugs filled, he lifted his own. “To truth, my friends.”
Their mouths shifted into firm lines. Nathan lifted the pitcher, examining its contents as if he had never seen the like before.
The back of Ranulf’s neck itched as they eyed him over their ale. Those two had another reason to bring them to Sedgewic. Watching them under furrowed brows, he waited.
Darrick set his cup down with slow deliberation and rose from the table. He knocked the dirt from his black leather boots. Dust motes floated in the air, threatening to make them all sneeze. The smell of decay blended with the musty scent that penetrated the old walls.
“Been two years since I last set eyes on Mary Dunley at court,” Darrick said.
“Mary?” Ranulf bristled. He had a feeling this was not going to go well.
“And,” Darrick added, laying a hand on Ranulf’s shoulder, “it’s been a year since last I saw you tearing off in a hurry to return to your new bride.”
Ranulf forced his muscles to relax. “A fat lot of good it did me, yes? By the time I finished fulfilling Henry’s orders, our chance for a good life together was gone.”
“What goes on here, Ranulf?” The pitcher Nathan had been holding hit the trestle table. “Are the rumors true? Did you murder your young bride in a fit of jealousy? Or have you imprisoned her in this godforsaken castle? Is that who cries out for mercy?”
The outrage Ranulf kept in check seethed under the surface. “My wife and unborn child were laid to rest in the castle cemetery.”
Nathan leaned back in the chair, folded his arms over his chest. “Then we’ll insist on seeing who resides in the chambers overhead.”
“You insist?” Ranulf glared over the trestle table. He clenched the cup in his hand, fearing if he let go, he would reach for his sword instead. “’Tis an injured maiden. Discovered by that boy, Hamish. And ’tis what brought me back to Sedgewic. Nothing more.”
“Then we shall not keep you.” Darrick propped his back against the hearth and showed no sign of leaving. “But first, give us the tale of how you came by her.” He took a shallow sip from his cup. “And how well you’ve faired since your Mary’s death.”
* * *
Hours later, Ranulf leaned against the wall, his forehead pressed to the cool stone. It had taken more ale than he’d desired to quiet Nathan’s questions. ’Twas now obvious to him that he had grown used to the quiet country life. His skill in drinking his friends into the wee hours required honing. But outlast Nathan he did.
Grimacing, Ranulf waited for the stairway to stop its incessant spinning. His head thundered its complaint of too much ale and not enough sleep. It rang from the continuous arguments beaten upon his ears. The rumors tossed about the room had nearly destroyed friendships built on admiration and mutual trust.
He could have ordered the maiden dragged from his chambers, stripped down, exposed for what she was. What? A woman?
That was all the information he had. But he wanted more. So much more. ’Twould have satisfied one of their questions. Who was held in the chamber? But their accusations cut him deep. Murder his wife and babe? Never. How could they consider such a thing? They had to know he would never do what they suggested. In truth, he had killed in the name of the king. Never for his own satisfaction.
Blood pulsed along the reddened scar with renewed vigor, threatening to disrupt his concentration. He probed the raised flesh with his fingers. This badge of pain was his to wear for the rest of his days. And every day he would wonder about the events of the dark hour that took his wife and child from his life. The scar was a reminder to leave his lofty dreams of family behind him. Wanting too much had tested the fates and he had lost everything.
Darrick and Na
than’s challenges rebounded, echoing in his head. What events had taken place the night Mary and their child died? How had he come by the scar that ran its path into his hair? They were the same questions he himself had asked every night for almost a year.
The pain in his heart was clear. The rest remained hidden behind misted memories. Surely I did not kill my wife and my unborn child. Impossible.
He stumbled up the stairs and ran into solid planks of wood. Rattling the bedchamber door handle, he cursed when he found it locked. After fumbling in the dark, he withdrew the key tucked in his belt and unlocked the door.
Pushing aside the vexing notion that tonight his bed should be in the stable garrison, he paused in front of the hearth. The glowing embers in the fireplace confused him. He had stopped demanding the fire lit after Mary’s death. Erwina had too much to contend with to see it done.
As he picked his way across the room, his balance tilted. He grabbed at the curtains enclosing the great bed and steadied his legs. The string holding his chausses in place fell away. They dropped and tangled on his boots. Toppling into the bed, he let the spinning room have its way.
Eyes closed, he inhaled and caught the perfumed scent. His eyes flashed open. He could not have planned the location of this interrogation any better. Smiling, he wrapped his arm around the woman in his bed. To duty and truth.
* * *
Clarice jolted awake to find an oversize male lying next to her. A heavy bare arm flung on top of her chest squeezed the air from her lungs. Damn him; the lord of Sedgewic thought to share the bed.
Her pulse raced as she tried to wiggle free from his arm. It slid down and wrapped around her waist, blocking her escape. Heat radiated wherever his body touched her. He pressed against her back and soft puffs of air caressed the sensitive skin along her neck. Each breath brought her bound breasts precariously close to his palm.
Fearing she would wake him, she edged one leg out from under the covers and then the next, until her toes touched the cold floor. Her skin pebbled from the chill. Scooting over, she lifted his wrist and peeled away his arm. He snorted a complaint and Clarice froze. Her feet planted on the floor and her hip half off the mattress, she waited until the soft rhythm of his breathing deepened and slowed. Then she catapulted off the bed and scrambled to the door.
She tried the handle and found it gave way under pressure. Cracking it enough to let the light from the wall sconce in, she peeked through the slit. Her heart leaped like a rabbit in her chest. Her mouth went dry. Two guards stood at the door with their pikestaffs at the ready. They shuffled and began to turn in her direction.
Clarice shut the door, allowing the faintest click as the bolt moved into place. Braced against the wall, she listened and prayed the guards would lose interest. The man in the bed tossed in his sleep before rolling to his side. Time stretched out, moving at a snail’s pace.
Crouched in the shadows, she sorely missed the warmth of the bed. Her teeth clamped together to keep them from chattering. As the hours passed, her irritation grew with every cramping muscle. The man had no business coming into a chamber holding someone he thought a danger to the castle. Why he felt the need to dislodge her was inexcusable. But he was the lord of the castle. She supposed he could do whatever he pleased. It certainly worked that way in the Margrave household.
As the moon shifted, its light fell on an extra fur at the foot of the bed. If she moved quietly, she could snag it without waking him. Crawling closer, she tugged on the fur until it slid to the floor. Returned safely to the corner, she curled into the fur and watched the hulking man sleep like the dead.
Relentless curiosity nibbled at her good sense. Moonlight washed over the auburn hair falling across his cheek. Matching brows arched over a serene face. A puckered red scar, showing fresh signs of healing, marred his temple. Her heart tore in sympathy for his pain.
How odd. She blinked at the thought. She was certain he had been in charge of the men who had invaded her home. Even though he rode under King Henry’s banner, he had entered her life intent on destroying her family, her home, her life. Her brows furrowed. She must be sure to remember that simple fact. Yet here she sat, feeling safe enough to examine him as he slept.
As she watched him, she let her thoughts drift to her father’s parting words to Maud. How in the world would she find the wolf if the lord of Sedgewic intended to keep her restrained behind the castle walls? She bit her lip. Could she turn to the lord and beseech his help in locating its lair?
She shook her thoughts free of that consideration. ’Twas best to remember that he, too, was the enemy and could not be trusted. If he were to learn she was Nicholas of Margrave’s daughter, she stood an excellent chance of losing her head. But how was she to reach the king for help if she could not reveal her lineage? Clarice of Margrave existed only to Maud and those who would see her dead. She was doomed if she did not claim her heritage and as sure as dead if she did.
* * *
Bone-weary, in the wee hours Ranulf slipped out of bed and, without waking her, lifted the petite woman off the floor. He cradled her, torn between doing what he knew was honorable or listening to his ever-tightening stones. The place where her small hand wrapped around his neck pulsed with heat.
Determined to leave her in peace, he placed her gently on the mattress. He recalled the relief that had rushed through him earlier when he had realized she was not a young maiden fresh from the nursery. Now all he had to do was gain her confidence. Then he would know the truth behind her wounded eyes.
Providence could not have provided a better situation for him in which to start his interrogation. He was willing to allow her the opportunity to tell him her secrets. Then he would decide what to do with her.
Careful to put enough distance between them, he laid down beside her. A satisfied sigh rumbled through his chest. He might have had a momentary lapse of judgment in choosing his place of rest for the night, but what a delightful lapse ’twas. He burrowed deeper into the furs, enjoying the fact that he was not alone.
Chapter 11
His loins tightened, throbbing with need. The woman wiggled her bottom into his cock. Stones drew, tightening in anticipation. His palms brushed over her nipples. They rose and pebbled. Her feminine scent penetrated his dreams. He growled, pulling her close to nuzzle her neck, lapping the skin that tasted of honey. Eyes of sapphire locked with his as they rolled together in a field of lavender. She spread her legs, both hands traveling up her thighs until she arrived at her apex. Her fingers swirled over her mound. She bit her lip as she dipped and stroked her core. Eyes, heavy lidded, full of pleasure, she watched his need grow. Her laughter rippled over his skin, enticing him to lose control. Nudging her hand aside, he took over, carrying her to the edge. There he entered, joining her in the pleasure that stole his ability to think, only feel. Heat building, a firestorm of passion crashed as wave after wave took over their souls.
Ranulf awoke with a start. His imagination had taken control and left his body rock-solid and alert. He blinked away the sleep, stunned that he felt more rested than he had in over a year. He looked down at his bed companion, caged in his embrace. However, those passionate blue eyes glittering above pale cheeks were not happy. They tipped the scales between outrage and murder.
“Unhand me!”
“Ah, ’twas a dream after all.” He braced his arms, keeping his more tender anatomy out of harm’s way. Their legs entwined, pressing into his already aroused loins. His dream came back to him, urging him to make it real.
“My lord.” Mistress Erwina’s high-pitched voice penetrated the chamber door. Insistent pounding from the other side beat against his brain.
“Go. Away!” he shouted.
Mistress Erwina rattled his back teeth. Had the dratted women forgotten he was the lord of Sedgewic? This was not the way he intended his day to begin. If that assault were not enough, his mood worsened as the human-size kitten nestled in his arms was rediscovering her claws.
A grunt hissed th
rough his teeth as he caught the wench’s wrists. Reminded of her wound, he lowered her hands, caressing the delicate flesh with his lips before holding them to his chest, where they could do no harm. Thoughts of her cuddling up to him in the middle of the night sung through his body, addling his brain. He leaned in, allowing himself to hope for a more welcoming morning with his guest.
The door bounced against the wall and the castellan of the castle pushed past the guards. Wide-eyed, she stood at the threshold, her ring of keys in hand. “My lord.”
Ranulf looked over his shoulder and frowned. “For the love of God, Erwina,” he said. “Unless the castle is on fire or under siege, there is no cause for tearing my brain out through my ears.”
“But—” Erwina said.
“By whose permission do you enter my chamber?”
“Yours, my lord. You gave me orders to tend to the . . . uh, patient, come the new day.”
Faint memories nibbled at his wits. Slowly, he recalled how he came to find his bed in error. He should have known the previous night would not be swept away. Annoyed with the intrusions into his life, he could not keep the impatience from his words. “Be quick about your duties, then.”
Erwina cast a quick look about the chamber. “Do you wish to break your fast in the hall?”
Keeping the maiden’s wrists trapped, he allowed her to dive under the bedcoverings. Ranulf propped his back against the headboard and made no effort to cover the tent created by his very alert cock. “By all that is holy, I am lord of this castle. I refuse to rush about the room like a misbehaving boy.”
He glanced at his bedmate and wondered if she had been aware of the way their thighs had brushed. Or if she had noticed the heat shared between them on each turn of her body. The caress of her soft breath as she sighed in her sleep was still fresh in his mind. His loins tightened again. He could still feel the warmth of her rounded bottom, cupped in the angle of his hips. Did she know how she had tortured him with her backside? Forced to wait until the wee small hours of the morning, he had nearly lost control of his need when she rolled over and snuggled deep within his arms.